I Wanted To Be A Dancer
by Princesseclair13
Summary: An idea about the Holocaust. Not exactly a fanfic. An original piece of work. Inspired by Night by Elie Weisel, The Book Thief by Markus Zukas, and Paper Stars by the talented /user/hbrooks COmments are appreciated


I wanted to be a dancer.

But Mama would not hear of it. It was a woman's duty to stay home and play house. They were meant to be mothers and caretakers. They were made to be married to respectable men of Jewish descent. That is if you are Jewish. Like me.

His name was Aaron. He was a premed student under my father. He wasn't entirely awful, but the fact was that I had no say in the matter and Mama was too old fashioned and set in her ways. It did not matter what I thought. I wasn't exactly taught to follow my heart.

Being attractive is also a curse; along with being Jewish. I couldn't control that either. An attractive Jew, which was the worst, had to be some cruel trick played by God. This whole war was a cruel joke: especially the concentration camps. The guards get bored easily, and they take notice of pretty, young things.

The guards took notice of the pretty blonde, green- eyed girl who wished to be a dancer. They said crude things to her as she went on her way to the kitchens to work. My hair had been cut raggedly like all the others, but it grew back quickly. They grabbed at me with their large, clawed hands. I was innocent.

The first few times they only harassed me with words. Then they grew bolder and dared to touch me. I attempted to get away, but my efforts were futile. They pulled my hair and slapped me across the face, then pushed me to the ground, laughing and jeering for me to get home, knowing full well my home was gone. No one asked any questions. They knew that I couldn't help being beautiful. They pitied me, but offered no comfort, turning over in their bunks trying to forget where they were, what they were.

That night they pulled at my clothes. I had become shrunken and dirty. They still wanted me. I smelled alcohol on their breaths. All three of them leered and laughed. The leader of them had the other hold me down as he began tugging at my uniform. I had started crying, no verbal sounds. I knew that it was safer. Inside I was panicked and trying to think of other thing: cotton candy, vacations on the Rhine, my dog Rufus, even Mama. I had heard stories from girls my age, they were the ones that screamed from night terrors.

He struggled with his own pants. I turned my head away and clenched my hands and eyes closed. I heard them taunting me with fake, gentle words. Then I heard a shout. The men shouted a few coarse words with the new figure. I closed my eyes harder, but then they were gone. I opened my eyes and saw a man above me, studying me quietly. We existed in our own world for a brief moment. Silent tears still crept down my face. My palms were bloody from where my nails had broken the skin. My hair was flung about the ground and my clothes were in disarray. He mumbled me to get up and turned off his electric torch.

He was my savoir. I struggled to thank him through my tears. My stomach hurt from the fear in my body. I pulled up my pants, still feeling eerily violated. He asked me if I was okay. I nodded, averting my eyes from my superior. We were punished if they thought we were too assertive. I buttoned my top back over my emaciated stomach and bulging ribs and my sunken chest. He asked me my name. And I gave it to him. He asked me to repeat it.

Hanna. I said looking him in the face. He was handsome in a dark way, but then again I could not see him all that well. His eyes studied my face again. Those men will not bother you again, he said, they will be moved to another camp. I nodded again.

Thank you. I repeated clearer. Thank you was an surprisingly important phrase of insignificant words. They could indebt you to a person, like I just did. Or they could be a negotiation or a kind remark to make you feel appreciated. They were an ending and a beginning. I didn't know what else to do. I could not leave until he dismissed me. And I could not ask his permission to leave either.

Will you meet me back here tomorrow night Hanna? Hanna. My name. I had not heard someone say it in a very, very long time. He asked. His face held no distinct emotion. I nodded. If you wish, was my short reply. I had dropped my head again. My name, he started, is Sebastian. And he left.

Sebastian. He was my escape. Something deep down inside of me confirmed it. He would help me. Somehow I know he would. I hurried to my barracks. My eyes adverted from all the other ghosts. They were shades just like me; I just didn't need the confirmation.

The first time it hurt. I was immune to most pain. These hell holes were like that. Our relationship soon became something much more important to me. His mouth was gentle, a change from the roughness of my life. He caressed my hair softly; it felt like wires on my head. He made me remember that there was hope. He made me forget that there was a thing such as despair. I was given a chance to love.

The days were not that horrible; I had something to keep me alive. The many nights we spent together were for each our own benefits and for us together. He called me by my name, Hanna, and he said he loved me. He made me remember how to laugh. And he reminded me that life held good too. He was mine and I was his. That's all that mattered.

I told him I wanted to be a dancer one autumn night. He smiled and twirled my hair around his finger. Oh really? I smiled. I had begun smiling again around him. Yes, but Mama would not allow it. It was no place for a girl like me.

The kiss he gave me then was precious. I wish I could take it in my hand and hold it to my heart for all eternity. It held my unfulfilled hopes and my unfulfilled dreams. I depended on him to make me feel again.

I curled up in his arms. They made me feel safe and took me far away from the horrors of everyday. Hanna he whispered. I will get you out of here. I turned from his arms, sitting up and pulling the blanket with me. I believe it, I answered solemnly. I looked at him in the dark. These moments when we just sat and waited and listened and looked were precious. It was the most intimate thing in the world.

Blood. That's what I coughed up. Red, oozy, thick, choking blood. It made me heave for air. My stomach and lungs hurt with so much blood. The aftermath hurt more than the bullet. Sebastian was down next to me. He grabbed my hand. I squeezed it weakly and then struggled to breathe. I knew I was too loud. The world got spotted black and white. I croaked his name. His breathing was like mine. I could not move.

Hanna, I love you. I smiled slightly and felt tears bubble under my eyelids. I let out a small laugh, but it was a gurgle. I was dying. Sebastian, I love you too. I will see you soon. I told him. I think only his leg was shot, but I wouldn't live to know. He moved to look at me from above. I felt his tears collide with mine. They intermingled, making a salty ocean of tears and sweat and blood on my face. I took a few hard, raspy breaths. I weakly cupped his face in my hand.

Thank you. It was a release of my soul, it was for him to release me and be free. It was a vow of forgiveness and an expression of endurance. Thank you for everything and letting me live.


End file.
